THE BABY RIVER ANGEL by Robert Hays
Available in Print and All Ebook Formats
Chapter One
The makeshift raft, little more than a clump of brush, bobbed along in the ripples of the swift current close to the near bank of the river. When it was almost alongside the boat Birdie raked it in with his fishing pole, and the shallow reed basket lashed to two of the larger branches with a length of wild grape vine suddenly came alive. The two boys stared in fascination as he lifted a baby, its arms flailing, and gingerly pulled back a corner of the cocoon-like blanket to reveal the tiny face.
“Lordy, child,” Birdie said softly, “where’d you come from?”
“What is it, Daddy?” Birdie’s oldest boy asked.
“Why it’s a baby. Cain’t you see that?”
The boy looked momentarily chastened. Then he pushed closer. “Let me see it,” he said.
“Get the basket first. Set it down right there, in the bottom of the boat.”
The boy did his father’s bidding and Birdie very carefully lowered the delicate bundle back into the basket. The boy stooped over the squirming baby with an expression of awe and his brother, who had stayed back, crowded up beside him. Once within reach, the younger boy timidly lifted the edge of the blanket so that he could get a better look.
“Whose baby you think this is, Daddy?” the younger boy whispered.
“Now how would I know that? You seen it floating down the river same as I did.”
“I just wondered, is all.”
“Yeah, well . . . I just wouldn’t have any way of knowing. Sure seems like somebody was awful careless to let the little thing go floating off on such a flimsy little raft as that.”
The boys agreed. Yessir, it sure did look like somebody wasn’t taking very good care of the baby. How far upriver did he figure it had come from? Did he think maybe there was a nametag on it, like people looked for when they found a stray dog? What kind of baby did he guess it to be, a boy baby or a girl baby? It sure looked tiny, did he know how old it was? Did he suppose whoever lost it was on a picnic and forgot and left the baby in their picnic basket . . .?
“Now jest hold off with all your questions,” Birdie insisted. “I already told you, I don’t know any more about this baby than you do. All I know is it’s a good thing we seen it when we did.”
“How come you say that?” The older boy, again.
“Because it wouldn’t have lasted long on the river, that’s how come.”
Now the younger: “You mean it would have drownded?”
“Most likely, yes. If that little bit of a raft got tore apart on a stob or something. This basket might have floated for a bit, but sure not for long.”
Both boys were wide-eyed. Their daddy had just saved a baby from drowning and they had helped. Sobered by the weight of this reality, they sat quietly as their father turned the boat around and headed back down the river in the direction of the
Back at the landing, Birdie gripped the basket firmly and climbed out of the boat while the boys held fast to the pilings. He rushed to Sam Gowdy’s bait shop.
“Sam,” he called, breathless and red-faced from exertion, “you gotta see this!”
Sam Gowdy was not a man to hurry. He took his time coming from the back of the shop. When he saw the child Birdie Wilson held in the basket his jaw dropped in disbelief. “Where ’n hell did you get a baby?” he demanded.
“She was floatin’ on the river,” Birdie said. “I swear she was, Sam, on a flimsy little raft of a thing that would’ve sunk and drowned her the first rock or stob it hit in the water.”
No comments:
Post a Comment